


My salvation is just to sleep and have a happy dream

by Miyukitty



Category: Tokyo Ghoul, Tokyo Ghoul:re
Genre: Amnesia, Angst and Feels, Body Horror, Ghouls and their Humans, Homoromantic, Identity Issues, Literary References & Allusions, Lucid Dreaming, M/M, Mild Gore, Mind Palace, Psychological Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 21:31:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3090890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miyukitty/pseuds/Miyukitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knew he was asleep, even knew that was the word for it – something he had read about in passing and not given much thought to, since his dreams were not something he wanted to explore. He lived in a very small corner of his mind, and stayed far away from the vast expanse that lay slumbering beyond those safe limits of "Sasaki Haise". In his dreams, the lines blurred and it was no longer such a clear boundary. He could feel the presence of the Voice, though he did not yet hear it bleeding into his thoughts. It would soon.</p><p>If he knew how to wake up, Sasaki would have instantly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My salvation is just to sleep and have a happy dream

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place after Chapter 8 of TG:re, so spoilers for that (plus allusions to the ending of Tokyo Ghoul manga LIKE THE TITLE FFFF MY BB). Since dreams and hallucinations are a thing Kaneki does a lot I had this idea, which is mostly just exploring Sasaki's current mindset. And nothing says "plotless fanfic drabble" like researching Kafka amirite?? (gdi Ishida-sensei and your literary references.) ...and it wouldn't be a TG fic without some blood riiiight?

His dreams were scattered flashes of color. He saw a kaleidoscope of faces and events and places that did not connect to any memories he recognized. It went by dizzyingly fast.

 

He did not try to remember what he saw in the mornings, even though sometimes the unwelcome images lingered behind his eyelids for a second too long. A fierce androgynous teen with short dark hair held a rabbit keychain. A wealthy man in a gaudy but well-tailored suit offered a handkerchief. A little girl with sad eyes pointed to a picture of a flower with a complicated name she couldn't read. On the nights he saw the blond boy with the headphones smile at him, he always woke up with tears wet on his cheeks. He didn't want to know what any of it meant. He tried to forget.

 

It was easier to let it all go and pass the faces off as fantasies concocted by his overworked mind than to accept even those fragments of his past life. He wanted to be Sasaki Haise. It was dangerous to be anything else.

 

He had worked hard to build up some semblance of a normal life here in the CCG. He wanted to live as a human, but his past self had embraced life with _ghouls_ , and he did not want to know what horrors this body had wrought in the past. Hunting ghouls as an investigator was atoning for sins he had no memory of. He was a mentor. He was making this world a safer place. _He was not a ghoul_.

 

The twenty years he'd lost terrified him to his core.

 

Sometimes he woke in a cold sweat, stomach queasy and nerves frayed for the rest of the day, because he didn't know if he could call them nightmares or _flashbacks_. On those bad days his polite smile became strained and fake, and the halls of the bureau became a labyrinth of hostile glares and whispers around every corner. His safety net was a noose around his throat. Those were the days he would crack his knuckles and pour himself into his work until his restless energy burned out and he passed out at his desk (to be chided later by Akira or Mutsuki, and then only feel guilty over being caught).

 

Sometimes he heard the Voice whisper in his ear just when he was slipping into unconsciousness, and he could never be sure if it was the white-haired _monster_ that lurked on the fringes of his mind, or just his imagination.

 

* * *

 

One of the few things Sasaki Haise could honestly say he knew about himself was that he had good taste in books. He felt at peace when he read. Even when his favored subjects tended toward the dark and macabre, his grisly work as a Ghoul Investigator did not impede his enjoyment of the stories. And Kafka's writing was a personal favorite of his. The disturbing imagery, the recurring alienation of the characters struggling to fit into their flawed world, appealed to him in a way that made it feel… familiar.

 

"'…Perhaps the knife of the butcher would be a release for this animal; but as it is a legacy I must deny it that. So it must wait until the breath voluntarily leaves its body, even though it sometimes gazes at me with a look of human understanding, challenging me to do the thing of which both of us are thinking,'" Sasaki read softly.

 

He returned the slim novel to its shelf with reverent care. Arima said he liked it. He felt a quiet pride at that approval.

 

He smiled to himself, albeit a little bitterly, and let his fingers stray along the spines of the other books. Arima asked to borrow another. He could easily guess why _A Crossbreed_ appealed to Arima, short as it was, and it felt almost like a test to see what he would choose as a follow-up. Would _Metamorphosis_ be too obvious? Would choosing a different author entirely be seen as an evasion?

 

His fingers faltered, and after a moment's pause, withdrew. Arima was a truly intimidating man. The stoic Reaper had a frightening intensity, always calculating many steps ahead, never breaking his calm exterior – and his quinque skills were the stuff of legend. Sasaki admired him deeply. It would be an honor to surpass him one day, especially wielding his old quinque Yukimura. He had been mostly joking when he referred to him as 'father', but he meant it a little, too; Arima's acceptance was significant, and when he played along with the family bit, Sasaki experienced a rare flicker of warmth as if it wasn't all make believe.

 

It amazed him that such an important figure still made the time to check in on him. Around that level of power, he felt _safe_.

 

Sasaki was always under scrutiny because of who he was – who he _used_ to be – and it meant a lot to be able to have a personal relationship with someone he could talk about books with. He wished he had more time for reading, but there was always so much to do. By the time he got back to his room, he was usually so exhausted by the day's events he could only collapse into bed.

 

He sighed and abandoned the bookshelf. He would figure out what novel to lend another day. For now, he would have to hope for a restful sleep.

 

* * *

 

It could have been because Arima asked if he wanted to find his former friends and family and he said no, but the unpleasant idea lingered. What if he did have someone (relatives, loyal companions, a child, a lover) waiting to hear from the ghoul who no longer existed? Perhaps it was a repercussion of the ghoul Serpent recognizing him, and the _incident_ that followed. It might just be the effect of reading Kafka before bed, but whatever it was, that was the night Sasaki found himself in a lucid dream.

 

He knew he was asleep, even knew that was the word for it – something he had read about in passing and not given much thought to, since his dreams were not something he wanted to explore. He lived in a very small corner of his mind, and stayed far away from the vast expanse that lay slumbering beyond those safe limits of "Sasaki Haise". In his dreams, the lines blurred and it was no longer such a clear boundary. He could feel the presence of the Voice, though he did not yet hear it bleeding into his thoughts. It would soon.

 

If he knew how to wake up, Sasaki would have instantly.

 

He was undeniably nervous, but he had an investigator's curiosity as well. This room consisted of stark black and white contrast, nothing like the wheel of colors his usual dreams showed him. It was empty except for a single chair at the center. He felt a chill when he saw it, and when he moved to rub his arms together, he noticed he was not wearing his customary suit and overcoat. He had shorts on, and some sort of clingy black fabric made his top contour along his musculature. He ran his hands along it and marveled at the way it felt both foreign and familiar to him. He glanced down and saw he was barefoot on the cold floor tiles.

 

"Haise," the Voice whispered.

 

Sasaki stiffened. He knew this was coming, but he shuddered every time he heard his own voice crawling in his ear like a thing with too many legs.

 

"Come a little closer… it's cold…"

 

The Voice sounded almost affectionate, with the sort of lazy satisfaction one would expect from a predator who had his prey trapped. Was he trapped in this room? His dream self looked around, and finding no exit, tried to picture one. He should have some control over this world, right?

 

"Hey," the Voice said. It did not like to be ignored. A hand settled firmly on his shoulder, and he did not have to look to know it had black fingernails. He tried not to squirm when an exhalation tickled the back of his neck.

 

"Haise, do you know where you are right now?"

 

Relief flooded him when he turned and spotted a door outlined against the wall. He could escape this place. He shrugged off the hand without much resistance, and dashed to the exit. If he was controlling the dream, he would make it a _good_ one, he would think of a safe and calming place as he burst over the threshold into the bright light of the next room.

 

* * *

 

When his vision cleared, he saw a flaxen-haired man standing tall and statuesque in a chamber full of flowers. Arima Kishou. He started to walk toward his teacher, a trusting smile on his face, and then the Voice in his ear _hissed_ and vanished.

 

Arima turned as he heard the noise. Sasaki shivered when he saw the light of recognition gleam cold in the Reaper's stare. The air pressure changed, and made his breath catch in his throat. This was an Arima who did not know him – or worse, one who _rejected_ him.

 

He opened his mouth to say something, to ask for help with the _ghoul_ following him, but in a flash the god of death was running at him with all of his overwhelming strength. His movements echoed their impromptu sparring matches, but the affection was stripped away and replaced with something ruthless and frozen.

 

Sasaki stumbled backward as his 'father' advanced on him with quinque drawn. A wave of dread washed over Sasaki as he saw blood spattered on those familiar glasses. He didn't want to know whose it was. His stomach dropped as he tripped on something that didn't feel like _flowers._ The lance was plunging toward his eye socket, and then hands on his shoulders yanked him through another door and slammed it shut.

 

He crumpled to the ground, gasping and shaking. His trembling hands roved over his body, checking for holes, clawing at his eyes to make sure they were both there, counting his fingers and toes, ensuring that the quinque Ixa had not skewered him into ribbons. He seemed to be in one piece. His heart was hammering faster than he'd ever felt it before, and it was difficult to breathe.

 

Arima… hunted him like a ghoul. He was the knife of the butcher, Sasaki had always known, but to see that beautiful man he admired so much become the embodiment of death was horrifying _. This is only a dream,_ he reminded himself, until the panic began to subside. He could trust Arima without fear. He was not a ghoul (anymore) and if he ever went too far, he could trust Arima to do what was necessary. Knowing he could be killed made it safe for him to live like this.

 

His eyes were still screwed shut, but with a shuddering breath, he forced himself to sit upright and look around. He wouldn't die in this place – he would only wake up. He had to continue or his dream wouldn't end.

 

* * *

 

Sasaki was surprised to find himself outside. There was no door or even a building behind him, and he did not see the Voice either. There was a playground nearby, with a stream meandering around the curve of the grassy slope. In the distance he could make out the silhouette of a coffee shop, though the lights were out. It appeared peaceful in the park, though he remained uneasy. The flowers had been deceiving, so this could be an illusion too.

 

Cautiously, Sasaki rose to his feet. Someone was crouched near the water, his back turned. A messy shock of blond hair spilled over the collar of his jacket. This was the teen with the headphones he'd seen, except he might be older now, broader shoulders filled out underneath his coat, no headphones slung casually around his neck or anywhere else. He appeared to be watching the stream go by, but Sasaki could tell he was waiting.

 

He knew instinctively that this person was important. There was no name on the tip of his tongue, no memories spilling over to fill the gaps in his history, but he just knew. Sasaki tried to say something but ended up coughing, mouth still dry from his fright. He was nervous. He didn't know who this person used to be, or if this was an actual memory or just a figment his dream was inventing.

 

The squatting boy chuckled knowingly and patted the grass beside him. Sasaki cleared his throat and tried again.

 

"You're the one who saved me just now," he said, and moved obediently closer.

 

"Of course," came the cheerful response, as if that was such a natural thing to do it didn't need mentioning. The boy still didn't turn his head, and Sasaki felt a sudden longing to see his face. Was he a ghoul or a human? What was their relationship? Why was this the person his mind conjured when he thought he was about to die? He hesitated, bare toes curling in the grass.

 

"Still with that weird getup? Fashionable or not, you must be cold," the boy said, before he shrugged out of his puffy jacket and held it out.

 

When Sasaki did not move, the blond stood and faced him, carefully draping the coat over his stiff shoulders without actually touching him. It was warm. It was so warm and it smelled like _home_ and he clutched at the cheap fabric with a sudden fierceness that surprised himself. The boy was watching him intently, and when he saw Sasaki meet his gaze, he beamed the brightest smile Sasaki had ever seen. This person couldn't possibly be a ghoul, he decided.

 

"I don't remember who you are. I'm a different person from who you knew. I'm sorry," Sasaki blurted suddenly. There was devotion in those gentle brown eyes, something so deep that Sasaki couldn't tell if it was made up or if there had really been a person like this in his old life. The guilt at not knowing was overwhelming him. He expected to see a look of hurt, but the boy's smile did not falter.

 

"Who cares about that, let's just go home already."

 

Then there were arms wrapped around him, and Sasaki melted into the embrace.

 

If Arima was beautiful, it was a beauty like ice: something cold and colorless and untouchable, an inexorable force of nature that drew him in to try and thaw what had been frozen. This ordinary boy had something beautiful too; he radiated warmth like the sun, drawing a damaged thing like Sasaki helplessly toward his healing light.

 

Sasaki didn't know there was a second man who held this much sway over him (and he wondered, too, whether these feelings were even his own or if they were remnants of his past self). His work was his life; he had never known this kind of affection. He wanted to hold onto this. He didn't want to forget. 

 

He could only whimper in protest when the claws tore him away.

 

Sasaki was flung through the air and crashed heavily into the playground slide. His fight or flight instincts made him scramble to his feet, though his hand closed on empty air when he reached for his briefcase. Before he could concentrate on dreaming up a weapon, sudden weight slammed him back onto the ground, and hands clasped roughly around his wrists to pin him.

 

"Do. Not. Touch. Him," seethed the Voice.

 

Sasaki lay stunned on his back, gaping up at the monster on top of him. There was almost nothing human left underneath the exoskeleton of his kakuja. His snarling face was masked beneath a beaklike protrusion crowned with one hideous red eye. Armor plates jutted from the exposed skin of his back, down into twin centipede tails arched high and bristling with claws. Sasaki had been terrified by Arima's calculated barbarity, but this sight filled him with revulsion, knowing it was _him_ , this Kafkaesque insect looming and ready to tear him to pieces. He had never seen the Voice this wildly aggressive, and he was praying that this was not a real memory, _please_ —

 

"It's a dream, it's a dream, it's a dream," Sasaki chanted, and he wasn't sure who he was trying to convince at that moment. The Centipede was screeching in his face, teeth gnashing, tails whipping in a frenzy.

 

" _You don't touch him!_ I don't want that! Stay away from him! He's mine! This body is mine! Give it back! Give it to me, get out of my head, I want it back, I want _him_ back!!"

 

Sasaki was thrashing and kicking, but the ghoul's strength far exceeded his own. His dream self couldn't conjure up his kagune at all, and it suddenly dawned on him that in his mind, he was _human_ , and so this version of himself could not fight a ghoul like this. His scrabbling fingers found the hilt of his quinque sword, and then the ghoul wrenched his arms up so that he could no longer reach it.

 

"He isn't food! You can't eat him! You can't touch him or you'll eat him! I won't forgive that!"

 

The ghoul was repeating himself. He let out a choked cry when the Centipede kept pulling until he felt his shoulder dislocate. Sasaki's head lolled to the side, and he stared at the blond boy who had calmly walked over to the swing set. He sat idly with the chains in his hands and observed the struggle, patiently waiting to see who would win. He smiled gently when he saw Sasaki looking, and Sasaki cried out in wordless anguish, wanting to escape this monster, wanting to return to his warmth, wanting to hear his name –

 

"You're weak, Haise, you can't protect him, you can't protect anyone!" The Centipede hissed in his ear.

 

"Let me in, I want him back, _you will not keep him from me_ —"

 

Tails were slashing the jacket to shreds, filling the air with down feathers. Sasaki refused to stop struggling.

 

"I would never hurt him! I'm different than you!" he bellowed with as much force as he could muster.

 

The Centipede froze and cocked his head. Sasaki was panting heavily, arms twisted at unnatural angles, clothes torn and soaked with sweat. He was defenseless, but all the more defiant for it, because it was a _dream_ and he was in control.

 

Then the ghoul's tails slammed through his chest cavity and tore outward, bursting his rib cage open in a brilliant flash of red and pink and white. The air was ripped from his punctured lungs, and in his last second of consciousness, Sasaki saw the Centipede bury his masked face into the glistening colors of his viscera and begin to feast.

 

* * *

 

He awoke with a shuddering gasp.

 

Sasaki lay wheezing in the dark, clammy with cold sweat, the blanket twisted and knotted around his middle. His racing pulse roared in his ears. The chateau was silent, so at least he had not shouted and woken anyone else up. (Shirazu and Urie would have broken down his door by now.) His pillow was chewed open, and there were down feathers stuck between his teeth. He had no idea what time it was – only that he would not fall asleep again.

 

Already the dream was dissipating into the night air. He closed his eyes and pressed his palms against his eyelids, willing the panic to go away. He had impressions of the pattern of black and white like a chessboard, the scent of rotten flowers, the warmth of someone else's heartbeat against his own, the sound of bones splintering, the despair of having lost something important to him.

 

Sasaki drew a deep breath and counted down from a thousand. Usually that trick was enough to take his mind off the unpleasantness, and sure enough, the dream had faded by the time he reached zero. He would read until morning light, and hopefully it would ground him enough to handle another workday. It was only a dream, whatever it was that upset him. Those feelings weren't real.

 

When he lifted his palms away, he was surprised to find them wet. Sasaki blinked, and his eyelashes were sticky with unshed tears.

 

The feelings weren't real, but sometimes the dreams still made him cry.

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be mostly Hide but I accidentally Arima too oops I made myself sad ;o; wasurenaide, wasurenaide, wasurenaide, wasurenaide~


End file.
